


Schist

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 13:49:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10765512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: On watch while the company sleeps, Aragorn hears Legolas’ recitation.





	Schist

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: For this week’s [silmread](http://silmread.tumblr.com/post/159908531685/23-the-ring-goes-south). (Legolas quotes the Hollin rocks in The Fellowship of the Ring 2.3)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s as good a place as any to rest, if rest they must, and for the most part, Aragorn enjoys his watch. It isn’t as tense as it has been, though the Elven presence has long since departed from Hollin, and he knows it no safer than anywhere else on their path save for his own superstitions. Still, he sits not far from the others, propped against a log, and listens intently to the eerie silence. There isn’t a single animal for as far as he can sense, and that does do something to lessen his spirits. 

The first sound beyond his companions’ snoring is the quiet creep of footsteps behind him, so soft that he’s sure no one but a Ranger would hear it at all. Legolas is one of the most skilled hunters of his people, but he’s clearly making no effort to hide his gait from Aragorn. Aragorn stills the rock he’s been playing between his two hands and turns his head to see what little he can through the pale starlight. Legolas’ nearly luminescent skin, bright golden hair, and clear blue eyes pierce right through the darkness. He slips over the log to settle beside Aragorn in one graceful movement. His body heat instantly overtakes the subtle frost on the ground. Aragorn hasn’t much missed their fires, but he rarely does when Legolas travels with him.

Legolas glances at the stone in his palm and leans over to his ear, whispering close into it, “Has it told you any secrets, Estel?”

For the sake of not waking the others, Aragorn restrains his snort. He’s careful when he returns his words, because he knows if he leans too close, Legolas will only tease him for the scratch of his stubble. He whispers back, “For all I have learned from Elves, that one still eludes me. I almost think it a fiction, sometimes.”

Legolas’ eyes dance. Any other elf might take offense to the suggestion of a lie, but Legolas regards the jovial banter for what it is. Of course Aragorn trusts him implicitly, and if he says he hears the rock’s bemoaning of his long departed ancestors, then he must hear them. Aragorn can feel the ground, sometimes, can sense the movement in it from impossible distances, but that only covers space, never such _time_. A single stone in his hand can tell him little of what it’s seen. Legolas slips his fingers carefully between Aragorn’s, warm palm flattening against his calloused muscles, and lifts the rock to just before his face, as though to coax out a confession. The rock stirs no more than it did in only Aragorn’s touch alone. 

Legolas clicks his tongue, and Aragorn asks, “When you heard the words, what did they _sound_ like?” He imagines a deep drone, a lilting, haunting lullaby, in a strong, regal voice like that of Legolas’ father, or the aged advisors long in Elrond’s council. Legolas’ youthful tones are far lighter, fairer, and seem too beautiful to attribute to dead earth. 

Legolas muses thoughtfully, “Perhaps not so much _words_ in verse, but _song_ , for that is the language of the oldest things, and the meaning is more than what I can take from any one part.” He thinks a moment more, then draws Aragorn’s rock-filled hand towards himself, and he seems to listen to it before diverting again to burrow against Aragorn’s ear. 

Into it, he hums a low, almost purring melody, lustrous and exotic, but familiar somehow, perhaps only in the way that Legolas will _always_ be familiar to him. Aragorn closes his eyes to let the tune drown all else out. The sleeping voices of the others fade away, and the oppressing silence of Hollin bursts beneath him. He basks in Legolas’ song like a warm spring, and when the final note melts away, he doesn’t want to come up for air again.

But he finally opens his eyes back to the darkness, and he murmurs low, “It sounds strange to a Man’s ears.”

“To silvan ears as well,” Legolas breathes across his lobe.

“And to dwarf ears most of all!” Gimli’s booming voice interjects, giving Aragorn a harsh start followed by a rush of shame; normally, he’d notice the second any Dwarven snores had stopped, but at least he can claim distraction. Legolas’ fingers tighten around his in equal shock, but relax again at the realization that it’s only an ally. Peering back over their log, they watch Gimli roll to face them, grunting blearily, “How’s anyone to get any sleep around here, with the two of you flirting over stones?” 

In the corner of Aragorn’s eye, Legolas’ smile is a mirthful delight. He bows his own head in silent apology, and Gimli mutters before rolling himself back over. 

Without another word, Legolas tucks the rock into one of Aragorn’s many pockets. Aragorn has the feeling he’ll be keeping it, carrying it far from its native land, to take out again on nights when Legolas is no longer there to wrap so easily around him. 

With a soft kiss against Aragorn’s cheek, Legolas rises, and he nimbly crosses the log, slipping back into camp as though he never left. Aragorn watches him go for a moment, then returns to the silence and the stars.


End file.
